Chasing the Night
by passionately happy
Summary: AVENGERS AU - A small encounter and a short glance was all it took to send an artist running through the streets of New York for one goal: to find the dancer that has jeté'd through his dreams.
1. Chapter 1

Chasing the Night

**Summary: **AVENGERS AU - A small encounter and a short glance was all it took to send an artist running through the streets of New York for one goal: to find the dancer that has jeté'd through his dreams.

**A/N: **Supposed to be my summer project, but better early than never.

_**Reviews keep me going. If you're liking the story, please review! I need to know if this story is worth continuing. DO NOT FAVE/FOLLOW WITHOUT LEAVING A**_** REVIEW.**

I never do disclaimers because I trust people are smart enough to decipher who owns what, but for safety measures...

**Disclaimer: **As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, I, passionately happy, do not own any recognizable parties used in this fanfiction.

* * *

_We are pleased to advise Mr. Steven Rogers of his admittance to New York's School of Visual Arts starting September 2013._

All his life he's been belittled and teased to a great extent. He's been ridiculed for many years because of his artistic abilities and it had become such a spectacle that he contemplated to stop pursuing it altogether.

But now, sitting here in the midst of Central Park, Steve is grateful he didn't.

Oh, sweet, beautiful New York – how glad he is to finally be roaming around in the concrete jungle! The city of his dreams, the passion of his life – there wasn't a doubt in his mind that life could not get any better than it was at that moment.

Steve breathed happily, clutching his admission to the School of Visual Arts with the affection usually reserved for a teddy bear. How nice it felt, he mused, to be drawing on his own time – that luxury was never afforded to him back in the suburbs of Massachusetts. With his sketchbook and pencil in his lap, an unfinished sketch of the skyline and the wind blowing through his hair, he had never felt so at peace in his life.

Shading in the last of the Empire State Building, Steve began to pack his belongings in his tote bag (sans sketchbook and pencil, of course) as a longing for caffeine engulfed his body from head to toe. He headed out of the park towards the closest Starbucks, colouring in the remaining buildings. Tilting his head to the side, he paused for a moment, holding up his sketch in comparison to the legitimate skyline. A smile began to form broadly on his face, a feeling of elation arising and overtaking his senses, a smug sense of –

_Wham!_

Shook out of his thoughts, Steve confusedly lolled his head from one side to another, kerfuffled at the momentary change in events. Seeing a woman hurriedly collecting her belongings at his feet, Steve acted on his instincts and reached down to help the woman.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he apologized sheepishly, helping her pick up her items.

"It's alright," she responded, and the voice had such a melodic tone to it that Steve's head snapped up in interest.

_Wow._

Steve's mouth dropped open as he observed the girl, taking in the way the light shone on her fiery red hair in awe. Her eyes snapped up to meet his and suddenly, Steve felt something magical coursing through him.

And in that moment, Steve knew he was infatuated.

* * *

Back when he was young and naive and preferred baseball to art, Steve would hang out with the jocks who classified themselves as the apex of the high school hirarchy.

Sure, he had little-to-no muscle and he was the _last_ person one would ever think of as a jock, but he could throw a mean pitch, which in turn garnered enough respect for him. Besides, when he looked past the intimidating demeanor of the athletes, he found out that they were not who they portrayed themselves to be- they were actually _nice._

One jock in particular drew Steve intrigued. It wasn't the fact that his name was Thor (his parents were obviously big on Norse Mythology) or the fact that he could eat a_nything_ in a matter of two minutes, but it was the way he approached love that colored the budding artist fascinated.

When Thor was alone, he would identify as a stereotypical jock; regardless of his teddy bear esque personality, he would appear as intimidating and ruthless as possible towards the entire high school population. But of course, when he was with this girl -_ Jane_ - he laughed more, he smiled more, he ... became happier, free from all the expectations placed upon him as a jock. Steve recalled asking him what made Jane so special after seeing the pair walk down the hallway like they were the only ones in the world, her petite hand encompassed in his.

"All my life I've been lost," Thor had mused, a look of dreaminess overcoming his features as he slipped into a love-induced reverie. "Sure, I do have pretty amazing friends and an equally amazing family, and I am passionate about everything I do... but there's always been something missing. I just haven't known what it was until I looked into those beautiful brown eyes."

"Deep," Steve had responded, chuckling at his friend's love sickness.

"But it is true, my friend," Thor chuckled, clapping his friend on the back. "She is special in the way that she gives me butterflies and anchors me at the same time. With just one look and one touch, she's given me a feeling that I thought I would never feel in my life."

"What feeling?" Steve had asked, intigued.

"_Sparks_," Thor had whispered back, hushing his voice in a volume that Steve had thought was not possible of him.

Steve remembers brushing off his explanation, the musing of his friend's confusing him to no extent. Surely, that type of love only happens in movies, right? Pretty soon they'd be broken up and Thor would be in the position of brokenheartedness. It just wasn't possible for that type of true love to exist.

He's never considered the possibility that Thor was telling the truth until now.

~.~

"H-hi."

"Hey," the redhead replies back shyly, her cheeks reddening from the bite of the winds. Her eyes meet his once more and Steve feels something unfathomable rush through him.

Steve hastily stands up from his kneeling position on the ground, places his sketchbook and pencil under his arms and offers one sweaty hand to help the woman stand up.

"I-I'm sorry about that, ma'am," he stutters sheepishly. "I wasn't looking."

The woman offers him a smile as she gets up, to which Steve immediately photographed in his mind. "It's alright, I bumped into you anyways."

Steve observes the woman, allured by her beauty as his eyes roam up and down her person. He gaped at the fiery red hair pulled back into a bun, her ruby red heart-shaped lips and the emerald eyes that has awed and captivated him at the same time. She reminded him of watching a twinkling star on an ebony night - clad in a ballerina bodysuit, black tutu peeking out from her hips, white pointe shoes and a bag slung over her shoulder.

He wondered what she would look like when she danced.

"Steve," he blurted out, startling the woman. Inwardly facepalming at his impulsive outburst, he held out his hand in an attempt to save what was left of his calm and dignified self. "I'm Steve."

"Nice to meet you, Steve," the woman chuckles. "I'm Natasha."

And their hands touch.

Steve lets in an audible gasp of breath, feeling something electrifying rush through his fingers as they made contact. His eyes dart to Natasha, who had the same startled expression on her face.

_She had felt it too._

Emerald met Baby Blue.

Steve held on for dear life.

Natasha bit her lip, trying to slow her breathing. Lightly, she pried her hand from the stranger's gentle touch, already missing the feel of her hand in his.

"I'd better get going," she breathes, noticing the look of awe and sadness overcoming the artist's face. "It was nice to meet you, Steve."

"You too," he mumbles back, watching as the dancer glided away, her pointe shoes trailing behind her.

After her figure dissappeared from his line of sight, Steve looked at his sketch of the New York skyline and pulled it out of his sketchbook, throwing it down onto the busy streets. A yellow taxi immediately ran over it, crumpling and staining the hard work he had put into it.

He felt no remorse.

He has better things to sketch anyways, he mused, thinking of the dancer that had captured his heart.

* * *

A/N: **Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chasing the Night

**Summary: **AVENGERS AU - A small encounter and a short glance was all it took to send an artist running through the streets of New York for one goal: to find the dancer that has jeté'd through his dreams.

**A/N: **Supposed to be my summer project, but better early than never.

_**Reviews keep me going. If you're liking the story, please review! I need to know if this story is worth continuing. DO NOT FAVE/FOLLOW WITHOUT LEAVING A**_** REVIEW.**

I never do disclaimers because I trust people are smart enough to decipher who owns what, but for safety measures...

**Disclaimer: **As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, I, passionately happy, do not own any recognizable parties used in this fanfiction.

* * *

As Natasha raced to her Juilliard audition, only one question raced through her mind.

_Who was that guy?_

All her life, Natasha's been anything but romantic - she's always been the type to scrunch her nose at the mention of kissing or something as trivial as Valentine's Day. Love didn't exist in they still were together considering they seemed to only tolerate each other's existence in a begrudging fashion.

Natasha had always been intrigued by this development - school had taught her that two people who call themselves husband and wife love each other unconditionally but... it just didn't seem that way in her family. She's always kept her inquiries deep inside her - the tale about what happened to the poor cat due to its curiousity was enough to scare her into keeping her queries at bay.

But given that she was a young child, her curiosity could not be contained for _too_ long. After one particular supper where insults as sharp as a knife were traded, Natasha could not restrain herself to ask her mom the question that has been plaging her young mind since she emerged from infantry: _do you love papa?_

"Of course I do, дорогой,"Mrs. Romanoff had sighed. "But not as much as I did when I was younger."

"What does that mean?" Natasha remembers asking, innocent emerald eyes peering up at her mother confusedly.

Mrs. Romanoff had given her daughter a small smile. "_Love is for children_, Natalia. When you get older, you will find that it never really existed after all."

And ever since then, Natasha lived by that phrase. _Love is for children_ had been the four words that enabled her to manuver through the thirsty - _horny - _adolescents of high school. Heck - it had even been her senior yearbook quote!

But now, ten years later at the ripe old age of eighteen with toes pointed and lips smered with a ruby red, Natasha's beginning to question the legitamancy of the statement.

This man - _Steve -_ has given her something she's never felt before. When their hands touched, an electrifying feeling had shot up her arm. _Sparks,_ she thinks, is what those cliche, Disney Channel-type television shows call it - but it was stupid. She's never been one to believe in cliches.

Until she experienced it.

Steve had given her these so-called sparks and electrified an entire symphony in her mind. She found that since their small encounter in the park (which was a few moments prior) that she could not rip her mind from his image - his alluring baby blue eyes, his artistic hands, his broad shoulders, his apparent ambition and happiness and his perfectly chiseled bottom, the succelence of -

Widening her eyes in horror, Natasha quickly shook her head free of her reverie-like thoughts and quickened her pace.

There was a lot of time to think about this, but for now, she needed to focus on getting to Juilliard.

She still had a dance audition to go through, after all.

* * *

"I-I just can't get her off my mind."

Thor smiles knowingly, the lovesick look on the artist's friend all too familiar to the jock. "You've fallen hard, my friend," he chuckles, clapping a hand on Steve's back.

"It's ridiculous, considering I've only known her for two minutes," the artist continued to sputter, seemingly unaware that the athlete had said anything, "and I can't stop thinking about her. She was just so _beautiful."_

"What did she look like?" Thor inquires curiously. Steve immedately reaches into his bag to procure his sketchbook and flips to a page, holding it to his chest protectively as if it was a big secret.

"_Like this,"_ Steve whispers, and he delicately places it in Thor's meaty hands.

And he is immediately blown away.

On crumpled paper stained with mahogany droplets of coffee stood a woman dressed in a tight-fitting bodysuit, cat-like eyes peeking out from under her fiery red bangs that had loosened from her tightly pulled back bun. Thor gaped at the drawing as he studied her delicately accentuated cheekbones, her rosy lips, the smattering of freckles along her jaw line. His eyes traveled lower and he noted the presence of white pointe shoes strapped onto her feet, placed delicately into a first position.

_"A dancer,"_ Thor mouths to Steve, who lets out a nod.

Thor studied the portrait for a couple more moments before Steve clears his throat in an attempt to obtain his hurriedly drawn yet detailed picture. Thor let out a breath as he handed the sketch back, disbelief and awe encompassing his features. He's always known his friend was talented - heck, he got into New York's _School of Visual Arts_ for heaven's sake! He'd just never known the extent of his talent until now - Steve had always been showing him his various paintings of fruits and cars but they had always lacked the passion he saw in the one of this mysterious girl.

"That was... incredible, my friend," Thor shook his head. "You must be really infatuated with this fair maiden. When do you plan on seeing her again?"

All elation seemed to deflate out of the artist as Thor spoke. "We didn't trade numbers," says Steve. "She seemed like she was in a hurry."

Thor sat pensively for a moment. "Did you at least get her name?"

"Natasha," Steve replies instantaneously, placing his sketchbook back in his bag.

"Natasha," Thor repeats. The athlete quickly runs into his bedroom for a moment and returns with his laptop.

At Steve's curious look, Thor quirks a smile. "Let's find her."

Steve stays silent for a minute and then beams. "Have I ever mentioned how awesome it is to have a roommate like you?"

Thor chuckles. "A good thing I decided to get a football degree at NYU, isn't it?"

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you to my six reviewers: star humphrey, maddieclaybourne, Anonymous Mystery Reader, ym4yum1, LauraK and Audrey - you guys make my life! (: Reviewers made me really happy, so thank you guys for being my motivators!

More coming soon!

& this is an alternate universe in which Natasha is a dancer and Steve is an artist (:


	3. Chapter 3

Chasing the Night

**Summary: **AVENGERS AU - A small encounter and a short glance was all it took to send an artist running through the streets of New York for one goal: to find the dancer that has jeté'd through his dreams.

**A/N: **Supposed to be my summer project, but better early than never.

_**Reviews keep me going. If you're liking the story, please review! I need to know if this story is worth continuing. DO NOT FAVE/FOLLOW WITHOUT LEAVING A**_** REVIEW.**

I never do disclaimers because I trust people are smart enough to decipher who owns what, but for safety measures...

**Disclaimer: **As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, I, passionately happy, do not own any recognizable parties used in this fanfiction.

* * *

"Freaking finally, Nat! I thought you would never show up!"

Natasha looks at her childhood best friend with a sheepish smile, a blush colouring her cheeks. "I got a bit delayed- you know how it is."

"Do I?" Clint Barton laughs and escorts his bestie into the Juilliard building, his violin bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder. "If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you spent the last fifteen minutes you supposedly spent running here looking at this building like Tony does when he sees Pepper in her underwear. Jesus, I honestly wonder how much sex those two have done at MIT..."

"_Excuse me_," Natasha replies, halting their entry into the school. "I'm not a Russian FOB! I've been here before - I helped you move into the residence hall, damn it! And I don't appreciate you debauching Pepper like that!"

"Don't worry," Clint cooes, looping his arm into Natasha's and pulling her through the throngs of prospective dancers, trying to find the end of the line. "This whole FOB'ness will wear off the moment you hit second semester."

Natasha rolls her eyes as she settled into the auditionee line, observing her competition. A determined shudder rolled through her body as she studied the over-splits and remarkable technique her adversaries were displaying in their practice stretches, and for a moment, Natasha could only feel nervousness coursing through her veins.

"Hey," Clint whispers and he reaches for her hand, gently holding it in his. Surprised, Natasha's eyes flit to the violinist.

"You're Natasha Romanoff - you can do this. Hell, I did it, and look where I'm at now," says Clint, gesturing to his person. "I'm nineteen years old and I'm in my second year at _Juilliard - Juilliard_ out of all freaking places - doing what I love because I took a risk and showed my supposed talent to the world. Sure, there's a whole lot of violinists who may be a lot better than me but I don't care because I am the best _I _could be. So you don't have to worry about seductive barbie over there," he scowls, pointing at the lingerie-clad dancer who was currently practicing a pirouette, "or any other potential dance protegees. Just be the best _you_ can be."

The two peer at each other, Natasha's eyes scanning Clint's grey orbs for sincerity. Without pulling his hand away from hers, Clint sheepishly brushes his other hand through his sandy brown hair, feeling his cheeks redden at her observation. He immediately cups her cheek and strokes it softly, causing Natasha to stiffen.

"I guess," Natasha breathes and immediately pulls her hand away from Clint's yearning grasp. "I'm going to stretch now; hold my place in line for me, okay?"

Before Clint could protest, the dancer flitted away, her pointe shoes trailing behind her.

As she disappeared from his line of sight, the violinist let out a frustrated moan and sank to his knees, ignoring the looks of the prospective dancers.

_Infatuation really doesn't serve you well, doesn't it Mr. Barton?_ he thought, tucking his head into his knees.

* * *

Despite everything that had been thrown against the pair in high school, Thor and Steve managed to stay the best of friends during their entire school experience. Regardless of their differing reputations, they've come to rely and help one another - hell, Thor had turned baseball for Steve into an intensive workout, enabling the artist to stand out from the skinny, nerdy and homoerotic stereotypes that was usually associated with students that were of his profession. The jock had facilitated the artist to go forth and acquire these muscles and made him feel invincible... like a _superhero_. In turn, Steve would teach Thor the basics of art and lend an ear for the jock when his mischievous brother Loki would do something to make his life miserable. They lived on a basis of mutualism, as his friend Bruce Banner described it to him, and that was what made their bizzare friendship last.

So it was absolutely no question that he would move in with Thor once he got his acceptance to the School of Visual Arts in New York City. Thor had already acquired an apartment in midtown New York which was in driving distance of both NYU and the School of Visual Arts - he had left Massachusetts shortly after graduation to attend NYU's summer intensive program for the football scholarship he was trying to earn. Initially, Steve was a bit wary of moving in; he thought that it would affect their friendship in a negative way as he was not aware of how Thor was when he was in his natural habitat. But to his surprise, Thor had been nothing but amicable and their friendship had strengthened through each moment they had.

"She was a dancer, hmm?" Thor asks, shaking Steve out of his thoughts. Steve nods his head, and Thor pokes his tongue out of the side of his mouth in response. "How old did she seem?"

"Our age," Steve replies.

"Eighteen then - a college student!" Thor's fingers flutter over his laptop's keyboard, the severity of his hits causing the keyboard's keys to recoil under his touch. Pulling up Facebook, Thor begins to search, squinting his eyes in focus.

"Help me here," the jock says, and Steve stands behind him to peer at the computer screen, an array of dancer Natashas looking back at him.

"Oy vei," Steve breathes. "How the hell did you get so many dancer Natashas?"

"The power of facebook, my friend," Thor chirps, leaning back comfortably in his chair. "It complied a list of dancers named Natasha who attend Tisch, Juilliard, Ailey - all the dance schools here in NYC."

Steve's eyes scanned each face, his eyes scrolling over the names. _Natasha Johansson, Natasha Evans, Natasha Hemsworth, Elisa Natasha Downey... _such beautiful names and faces but none of them held those enchanting emerald eyes that held him prisoner all those hours ago.

"Steve," Thor suddenly pipes up, voice laced with excitement and Steve averts his attention to what girl Thor was pointing at.

"I think we found your girl."

* * *

**A/N: **Steve/Natasha/Thor/Jane/Pepper - eighteen years old ; Clint/Tony - nineteen. (: This is an AU - no affliciation with the cannonverse!

Thank you for all the reviews ! (:


	4. Chapter 4

Chasing the Night

**Summary: **AVENGERS AU - A small encounter and a short glance was all it took to send an artist running through the streets of New York for one goal: to find the dancer that has jeté'd through his dreams.

**A/N: **Supposed to be my summer project, but better early than never.

_**Reviews keep me going. If you're liking the story, please review! I need to know if this story is worth continuing. DO NOT FAVE/FOLLOW WITHOUT LEAVING A**_** REVIEW.**

I never do disclaimers because I trust people are smart enough to decipher who owns what, but for safety measures...

**Disclaimer: **As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, I, passionately happy, do not own any recognizable parties used in this fanfiction.

* * *

"You found her?"

Thor nods his head vehemently. "She's a dancer who's in her freshman year at Juilliard, works part-time at MAC cosmetics and single," he chirps, clicking on her profile picture. "She looks a lot like the girl in your sketch!"

Steve studies the woman, feasting his eyes to the reddish hue of her lips, the dabble of freckles on her cheeks and the flush of her cleavage, peeking out from a light pink tanktop. But although she did look remarkably like the woman he had so delicately drawn in the sketch, there was a detail that was blatantly different from what he remembered.

"Her eyes," Steve sighs. "She's wearing glasses."

Thor shrugs. "Maybe you have the memory of a goldfish?"

"I know what I saw," the artist snaps and flips to the next avaliable profile picture, featuring the woman in a tight black bodysuit, doe-like brown eyes smiling at the camera.

Thor sat pensively for a moment, watching his friend search tirelessly through the woman's pictures. At sight of Natasha clad in a pair of dark-rimmed glasses, Thor's mind immediately came up with a conclusion.

"Contacts!" The jock exclaims out of nowhere, and Steve halts his actions to look quizzically at his friend. "Maidens nowadays like to wear colour-changing contacts for aestethic appeal instead of their glasses! Remember Sif and how she would always have these bright purple eyes every time she'd skip school for a dance competition?"

Steve reluctantly nods. "I suppose that's a valid conclusion."

Thor smiles. "Good. Now," he shuts down the computer. "Why don't we go to Sbarro? I'm hungry for some New York pizza. We could find this Natasha-person tomorrow."

Steve claps his friend on the back. "Allez-y!"

~.~

"Natasha Romanoff?"

Clint gave the dancer a smile and prods his best friend towards the application table. "Good luck," the violinist chirps. "You'll do amazing."

"You're still backing me up for the performance part of the audition, right?" Natasha asks, hitting the violinist firmly in his pecs.

Clint scoffs. "Of course, I'll be sitting outside the audition room anyways. Now go on," he says, waving her towards the impatiently waiting Juilliard employee. "Good luck, танцор!"

And off she went.

Clint immediately retreated to the benches that were in close proximity to the audition room and folded his hands in prayer.

Oh, how he desperately wanted the girl of his dreams to attend the same school as him.

* * *

**A/N: **Hint: It is always important to double check


	5. Chapter 5

Chasing the Night

**Summary: **AVENGERS AU - A small encounter and a short glance was all it took to send an artist running through the streets of New York for one goal: to find the dancer that has jeté'd through his dreams.

**A/N: **Supposed to be my summer project, but better early than never.

_**Reviews keep me going. If you're liking the story, please review! I need to know if this story is worth continuing. DO NOT FAVE/FOLLOW WITHOUT LEAVING A**_** REVIEW.**

I never do disclaimers because I trust people are smart enough to decipher who owns what, but for safety measures...

**Disclaimer: **As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, I, passionately happy, do not own any recognizable parties used in this fanfiction.

* * *

Natasha took a breath between her clenched teeth, her heart thudding so quickly that she thought that it would fly out of her chest.

_Calm down, calm down... you've passed the first two stages of the audition, you can make it through this one._

She'd never dreamed of making it this far in the audition process. Regardless of the fact that her pointe shoe flew off during the ballet technique portion and she almost tripped during the modern part of the audition, she still made it as one of the ten remaining auditionees out of the fifty that originally auditioned.

But that could easily change in the span of two minutes.

"Natasha Romanoff?" A voice calls, shaking her out of her thoughts. Looking out from the side of the stage, her eyes sought Clint with a violin perched on his shoulder, ready to provide Natasha with her music.

_"You got this, Nat," _Clint mouths, flashing her an encouraging smile.

Natasha sighs nervously.

_Here I go._

* * *

"Wait a minute... you're telling me that you met this girl today and you're already in love with her? Jesus, Rogers, I never knew you wanted the V!"

Steve blushes. "I-I do not want this 'V'. I told you I'm waiting until after marraige."

"And that's a good thing," Pepper chirps, roughly elbowing her boyfriend. Tony recoiled from his girlfriend's hit with a feigned look of hurt.

"_Pep_," Tony whines. "I wasn't going to say anything mean!"

"You were about to," Pepper replies smartly, and Steve smiles, wanting the pair to be physically present with him at that moment.

Steve took a bite out of his leftover pizza and daintly wipes his mouth with a napkin, not wanting to show Tony and Pepper a greasy demeanor during their Skype session. It was a good thing Thor was out on grocery duty; it would be so tremendously awkward with him stuffing his face in front of their pals as he would descibe his love life. "There's just something about this girl that's special," he says, cutting off the couple's banter. "It's been six hours and twenty-three minutes since I last saw her and I can't stop thinking about her."

Pepper immediately shoves Tony aside and averts her attention to Steve, eyes sparkling with excitement. "That's so sweet! What's her name?"

"And when's your next date?" Tony adds, smirking.

"Natasha," Steve replies, smiling. "Thor and I found her on facebook; I'm going to go to her workplace tomorrow and ask her out."

Pepper let out a low whistle. "Don't you think you're moving a little bit too fast? And are you sure you found the right Natasha? There's billions of Natashas out here at MIT - I can't imagine the number down there in the Big Apple."

"Yeah... I'm positive," Steve says reluctantly. "She looked a lot like what I remember."

"Did you sketch her?" Pepper asks excitedly and Steve immediately pulls out his sketchbook and shows the pair his drawing of Natasha.

"She's beautiful," smiles Pepper.

"How are her melons?" Tony asks seductively. Pepper whacks her boyfriend in the head and gives the artist a sheepish smile.

"We have to go now, we're supposed to be studying," Pepper gives Steve an apologetic wince. "Skype us tomorrow, I want to hear how everything went, alright?"

"I will, promise," replies Steve.

"And tell Thor that Jane says hi," adds Tony, "which I'm pretty sure is an innuendo for _I can't wait to have you in my bed."_

Pepper rolls her eyes. "Bye, Steve!"

And the screen goes black.

Steve closes his laptop and flips to a new page in his sketchbook.

It would be best to sketch her again, just to keep his memory fresh.

* * *

"So... it seemed like you were really thinking of someone out there."

"Um... excuse me?" replied Natasha, bewildered by the sudden interruption in her focus. She looked up from her sitting position to see a (fairly short) ballerina clad in a tight fitting tank top that left little to the imagination and a pink tutu secured tightly onto her person.

"No, excuse _me _for intruding," the mouse-like ballerina to whom the voice belonged to chirped. "But damn, girl! The passion that I saw in your dance is the type of passion I have when I see a pizza. Preferably deep dish. The pizzas they have here in New York are so orgasmic; I wish the men here lived up to their pizza's standard..."

At Natasha's wide-eyed perplexion, the woman tucked a lock of her curly brown hair behind her ear and smiled, bringing out a sparkle in her glittery brown eyes. "I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself! I'm Darcy!"

"Hello... Darcy," Natasha responds and she offers a hand to shake. "I'm Natasha."

Darcy shakes her hand and she sits down next to Natasha, an intrigued smile coming onto her face.

"So the question stands," Darcy asks, giddily kicking up her pointe shoes in the air. "Who were you thinking about?"

"No one, just the fact that I wanted to impress the judges," Natasha answers, anxiously twiddling her thumbs as she waited for the rest of the auditionees to finish their solos.

Darcy snorts. "Bullshit. I saw that look in your eyes; hon, that's what my mama calls OBD - Obsessive Boy Disorder. Trust me, I know my fellow OBDs."

Natasha sat pensively for a moment. "Well..."

* * *

_"Good evening, Ms. Romanoff."_

_"Good evening," Natasha replied, feigning confidence as she faced her audience - a dimly-lit theatre with her adversaries and three judges sitting at a table on an elevated platform within the seats. She held her hands behind her back as she spoke, making sure her anxiety would not be seen by her observers. _

_"What will you be performing for us today?" a judge asked._

_"And for what program?" added another._

_"A lyrical solo to Adele's Set Fire to the Rain for my diploma in dance, sir," responded Natasha, the words flowing out of her mouth with the poise and precision that could only be reached through ample practice. Natasha felt Clint's approving grin at her back and smiled, hoping his violin was poised at the ready. _

_She thanked the high heavens for giving her public speaking skills; at least __that__ part of the audition would be taken care of._

_"How long have you been dancing, Ms. Romanoff?" asked the second judge, voice thick with a heavy french accent._

_Natasha inwardly rolled her eyes; she didn't know they would be going all interview central. "Fourteen years."_

_"Where are you from?" asked another._

_Natasha lightly wrung her hands behind her back; all these questions seemed to be of an intimate nature to her, regardless of the basic stature. "Born in Russia, raised in Fairfax, Virginia. I trained at the SHIELD Dance Academy in Washington, DC."_

_The first judge nodded. "What drew you to Juilliard?"_

_"Juilliard is a school that holds a great reputation for the fine arts," Natasha replied almost tediously. "I feel that in attending this school, I will acquire skills that will help me be my best and grow as a dancer. I have seen my friend go through your program as a violinist," she said, gesturing to Clint, "and I have seen him go above and beyond what I thought was possible for him in terms of musicality. I would like myself to go through the same process with my dancing."_

_An interested hum ran through the audience, the auditionees clearly impressed and intimidated by Natasha's vocabulary._

_After a few more questions, the judges finally waned off and waved for Clint to begin playing._

_And she was off._

_As Clint worked the strings on his violin, Natasha took a deep breath and began to dance, the technique and ministrations flowing through her body like a familiar friend. She smiled, albeit falsely, to try and bring emotion into the piece._

_She closes her eyes._

_He was there._

_Startled, Natasha gasps mid pirouette and- hello, baby blue eyes! There he stood, the stranger from the park, all smiles and artsy, a sheepish expression on his face. He - Steve, was it? - then plopped down on the closest seat to the stage, his eyes looking up at her in adoration._

_Suddenly, Juilliard didn't seem to matter anymore._

_She took her mind off technique; her body knew what to do, it had been practicing this routine for literally centuries now. Instead, she focused on showing Steve the emotion he had evoked into her, a genuine smile overtaking her features as she soared up, up, up in the air, elation flooding her every sense._

_And then it was over._

_Natasha landed in first position, her eyes snapping open. A smattering of applause came from the audience and she immediately curtseyed, delicately making her way off the stage. As she exited, her eyes flitted to the place she had seen Steve sitting._

_Gone._

_(Was he even there in the first place?)_

_Sighing, Natasha ignored Clint's calls of congratulations and retreated to the hallway._

_She still had to find out if she got through, anyways._

* * *

"The list is up!"

Darcy's sudden outburst caused Natasha to jerk out of her thoughts and the pair immediately ran towards the list on the wall, forcing themselves between the throng of excited dancers.

The dancer's eyes anxiously searched the list of approved dancers, her heart thudding a mile a minute. _Margaret Carter, Maria Hill, Loki Laufeyson, Darcy Lewis, Natasha Romanoff-_

_"We're in!" _Darcy screams and Natasha turns to be tossed in an embrace by the bubbly brunette.

Natasha returns her hug, a giddy smile coming onto her face.

_If only that park stranger was here, _she mused as she was thrown in a variety of embraces. _I could've thanked him on giving me the passion I needed._

* * *

**A/N: **So Tasha meets Darcy! :D Darcy is literally one of my top three favourite characters from the MCU - I've never had the oppurtunity to put her into one of my stories as a main character. Until now! For that reason, I'm very happy with this chapter.

And regarding Steve... everything is not what it appears to be. You may think you have something but maybe you actually don't? (;

See you tonight or tomorrow; thanks for the reviews! You guys make my life!

- Jazzy (:


	6. Chapter 6

Chasing the Night

**Summary: **AVENGERS AU - A small encounter and a short glance was all it took to send an artist running through the streets of New York for one goal: to find the dancer that has jeté'd through his dreams.

**A/N: **Supposed to be my summer project, but better early than never.

_**Reviews keep me going. If you're liking the story, please review! I need to know if this story is worth continuing. DO NOT FAVE/FOLLOW WITHOUT LEAVING A**_** REVIEW.**

I never do disclaimers because I trust people are smart enough to decipher who owns what, but for safety measures...

**Disclaimer: **As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, I, passionately happy, do not own any recognizable parties used in this fanfiction.

* * *

Juilliard.

Natasha took a deep breath, gazing dreamingly at glass facade of the school she got accepted to, not minding, for once, that people were staring at her.

"So this is really it," she says, lightly running her fingers over her white pointe shoes. "I made it."

"Correction," Darcy's voice chirps beside her and Natasha's eyes avert to her new dancer friend, who was hopping from first to third position in excitement, her trademark pink tutu bouncing along. "We made it."

"FOBs," a voice calls out and the pair of dancers turn to see Clint, a cocky smile perched on his lips.

"Meanie," Natasha yells back, sticking out her tongue petulantly. Clint reciprocates the gesture, tucking his violin bag under his arm as he did so.

"And just who is this fine piece of ass?" giggles Darcy, interrupting the interaction between the pair. The brunette subtly puffed out her ample chest, causing Clint's eyes to dart down towards her cleavage.

"Um... Clint Barton," the violinist responds, finally finding it in himself to jerk his eyes away from Darcy's chest.

Darcy reaches out a hand in the way Natasha did the night before, making sure to exaggerate her chest as she did so. Clint shook her hand, his face an interesting shade of red.

"Darcy Lewis," introduces the dancer. "Born and raised in New Mexico, baby!"

Clint nervously darts his eyes to Natasha, clearly amused at the exchange between her two friends. "Um, Nat, I'm supposed to take you to your class, remember..."

"And me too!" Darcy raises her hand giddily.

"Of course," Clint replies, hands shaking uncomfortably. "Follow me."

And so they went.

After a few long uncomfortable moments in an elevator, Clint led the dancer pair to a dance studio and both dancers gasped at sight of it, the air seemingly falling out rapidly from their lungs.

For one thing, the room was gorgeous - it had a great view from its ginormous window on the right side of the studio, it was spacious, the floor was neat and sparkly and hardwood - the best surface for a dancer to dance on! Hell, even the ballet bars were made of hardwood! But what drew Natasha intrigued was the distribution and ample presence of mirrors in the room - they were everywhere.

"Oh my god!" Darcy squeals, and she immediately does a Russian into the room and twirls in a series of piques, making sure she could see herself in each of the mirrors in the room as she turned. "This is so much better than the studio at home! I feel like a princess right now!"

Natasha and Clint looked at Darcy quizzically.

"How old are you, exactly?" Clint asks, scratching his head sheepishly.

Darcy drops into a stride split and immediately flips over towards Clint to flip him off. "Eighteen, dipshit."

Clint immediately held his hands up to maintain an image of innocence towards the aggressive dancer. "Jesus, no need to bite."

Darcy just gives the violinist a smirk and keeps dancing joyously, beginning a sequence of split jumps.

Natasha snickers, pats Clint on the back and steps into the studio, placing her bag on the floor beside the doorway. "I should probably get stretching too, I'm sure class will start any min-"

"- wait," interrupted Clint, a rosy tinge starting to make its way onto his face. "We never got to go on a celebratory dinner last night after you got accepted... Can I take you to Japadog tonight?"

Natasha tapped a finger to her chin. "I have the bonding part of orientation tonight, but I'll see if Darcy and I can make-"

"- no, just you and me," Clint blurts out, interrupting Natasha. "Like old times."

Natasha pursed her lips. "Well... I'll think about it, alright?"

Clint gave Natasha a smile, trying to hide his pain. "Alright."

And so, Clint retreated from the dancer pair, her implied rejection causing yet another crack in his heart.

"Unrequited love is hard," he sighs, heading to his violin class with his dignity in shambles.

* * *

"Are you ready for this, my friend?"

Steve smiles, anxiously rearranging the flower bouquet he bought just moments before. "Somewhat."

Thor smiles affectionately and lightly tugs on Steve's vintage bowtie, tightening it to his person. Lightly sweeping his eyes over the outfit he pieces together for Steve, he claps the artist on the back and pushes him towards the door of the MAC Cosmetics store in Times Square.

"Go on, my friend!"

"But how do you know she's even working today?" Steve asks, trying to stall. "It's a school day; don't you think she'd be in Juilliard right now?"

Thor gives his friend a look. "With that logic, why aren't you in Art School right now?"

"Why aren't you at NYU playing football?" shot back Steve.

"Because it is the five day labour day long weekend, Steve," Thor explains patiently. "Those in classes right now are being oriented. Students that are not newbies and are in school right now are either there to mentor or get some extra credit."

Steve sighs; Thor's logic clearly defied all reason. Lightly combing his fingers through his light blond hair, he smoothed out the crinkles in his maroon suit and pants, wiped off all dust off his blue plaid shirt and blew on his flowers for good luck.

"Here I go," he says, and Thor booms with laughter.

"I will be waiting here, friend," Thor replies. "Best of luck!"

And so he goes.

Steve delicately opens the door to the makeup store, his eyes scanning the inhabitants of the area. He took a few steps inside, the flowers clenched tightly under his grasp as he looked for the fiery red hair he had seen the day before.

Then he saw it.

Facing away from him in the eyeliner section stood a girl in a curve-hugging black dress, her fiery red hair captivating Steve like it did all those hours ago.

There it was - bright, shimmery red - the red that had caught the sunlight and had cemented his mind in a reverie-like state of redredred. There it was - she was here! Elated, Steve literally dashed to the eye department where this woman was, holding the flowers behind his back with a smile.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Steve says shyly. "Are you Natasha?"

"Sure am!" The woman exclaims, and Steve's heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach rapidly.

"That's not melodic! " his mind shouted out to him. "You've got the wrong girl!"

And when she turned around, his suspicions were correct.

"I'm Margaret Natasha Carter, " the brown-eyed redhead says, holding out a hand for the artist to shakes. "But I prefer that I be called Peggy."

* * *

A/N: PLOT TWIST WHEUUU

Good night guys, I'm tired as heck! Thanks to Ella for helping me with this plot line!


	7. Chapter 7

Chasing the Night

**Summary: **AVENGERS AU - A small encounter and a short glance was all it took to send an artist running through the streets of New York for one goal: to find the dancer that has jeté'd through his dreams.

**A/N: **Supposed to be my summer project, but better early than never.

_**Reviews keep me going. If you're liking the story, please review! I need to know if this story is worth NOT FAVE/FOLLOW WITHOUT LEAVING A**_** REVIEW.**

I never do disclaimers because I trust people are smart enough to decipher who owns what, but for safety measures...

**Disclaimer: **As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, I, passionately happy, do not own any recognizable parties used in this fanfiction.

* * *

"So..."

"Darcy," Natasha sighs. "Don't even go there."

The brunette gives off a confused chortle, pirouettes off to the side and sits down, eyeing Natasha as the ballerina began to do a sequence of jumps across the room.

"Go where?" trills Darcy, feigning innocence.

Natasha halts her pirouettes and rolls her eyes, facing her new friend with a sigh. "Darcy, I've only known you since 8:30 last night and I already know where your mind is going."

"Where is it going?" Darcy blabs, an almost indecipherable smirk on her face.

Natasha stares her friend down for a moment, who stared back equally determined.

"What was that so for?" Natasha cocks her head to the side.

Darcy raises an eyebrow. "A conversation starter."

"Oh really?"

"Re-ally," Darcy fires back.

Natasha lets out a breath, sizing up the mischief in the brunette's eyes. After observing her friend for a second, Natasha snorts and places her hands on her hips. "So you weren't trying to ask me to help hook you up with Clint?"

"NO!" Darcy yells and flails upwards. At Natasha's smirk, Darcy deflates and plops down to the floor. "Well... maybe."

Natasha gives Darcy an amused bow and flutters over to the ballet bars. "I told you so."

Darcy sighs and walks over to the bar, and together they began a sequence of plies. "It's not like I have a chance with him anyways... I mean, he's obviously smitten with you."

Natasha shook her head. "He's like a brother to me."

Darcy stares disbelievingly at her new friend. "Is this a romantic movie? Because it seems to be heading in that direction."

"Oh, really?" Natasha snorts, pulling Darcy to their bags on the other side of the studio.

"Humour me," the ballerina challenges, plopping down next to her bag. "I've never seen a romance film."

"What?!" Darcy exclaims, her eyes widening into saucers. "You haven't lived until you see The Notebook. Or Dear John. Or The Last Song. Or... Any Nicholas Sparks movie. Lord, I feel so sad for you it's not even funny! Agh, I swear I will make you watch one of them and j-"

"- you're babbling," interrupts Natasha, rolling her eyes affectionately. "

"Ok, ok, lemme get on a jumpstart," Darcy exclaims as she plopped down on the floor beside her new friend, and Natasha could already see the gears in her head turning a million miles a minute. "Are you and Clint childhood bffls?"

"Bffls?" Natasha repeats, raising an eyebrow.

Darcy waves her off. "Oh, you know what I mean! Childhood best friends for life?"

Natasha shrugs. "I guess. We've known each other since I was in kindergarten."

Darcy squeals. "Exactly how it goes!"

Natasha waves her hand, urging her to continue her trail of thought.

"Ok, sorry sorry," giggles Darcy, "So usually in these movies, the boy and girl are childhood besties and the boy totally crushes on the girl from like, the first time he lays his eyes on her. Like, literally. It's this whole boom boom pow thing where he just looks at her and fireworks go off."

"Boom boom pow," Natasha repeats, cringing at the feeling of the words in her tongue.

Darcy rolls her eyes and ignores Natasha's comment. "But the girl - aka you - is totally oblivious to his crush."

Natasha just stared. "I thought you wanted to hook yourself up with him, not me."

"I veto my dibs," chirps Darcy. "He so obviously loves you!"

Natasha scoffs. "Not in that way."

"Really?" questions Darcy, giggling. "Then what do you call that look he gave you when he left?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "What do you call it?"

Darcy smiles. "Love!"

"Bullshit," bemoans Natasha.

"Bullshit," mocks Darcy, still as chipper as ever. "It couldn't be any more obvious. Imagine kissing him."

"Haha, not possible."

"Seriously, Nat please?" Darcy begs, sticking out her lip in such a puppy-like manner that Natasha already felt her resolve crumbling.

Natasha closes her eyes and blocks out Darcy's puppy whimpers, trying to imagine her best friend in a way she hasn't before.

Years of observation led Natasha to think that she would be the more dominant one in the potential relationship. Clint would be more subdued, as she sensed he was afraid of her (which she liked). However, Natasha could imagine him in bed, playing her like strings on his violin...

Mistaking Nat's parted lips as pleasured surprise, Darcy smirks."See where I'm getting at?"

Natasha shook her head, cringing at her thoughts. "I'm afraid I just can't follow."

Darcy rolls her eyes with a chuckle. "Your pupils are dilated."

"Do you even know what that means?" asks Natasha, furrowing her eyebrows.

Darcy smirks and goes into a singsong. "It means you're aroused!"

Natasha's jaw drops. "I am not-"

"- anyways," interrupts Darcy, smirking, "in these movies, there's always a love triangle! The girl always falls for some other dude that's not the boy! And that other dude would be the guy you were thinking of last night at the auditions...?"

"I told you," glares Natasha, "I wasn't thinking of anyone."

"Again, bullshit," winks Darcy. "Seriously, tell meeeeee!"

"I just met you yesterday," intones Natasha.

Darcy rolls her eyes. "This is a fast-paced city - everything you do will be made fast. Even our supertastic 15-hourish friendship!"

Natasha stared. "Supertastic."

Darcy lets out one exaggerated sigh. "Seriously, Tashaaaa! I wanna hear! Who were you thinking about yesterday?"

Natasha chuckles. "Well..."

And so she told her everything.

~.~

"Peggy?"

"Yes, yes, that's my name," replied the redhead, smiling a bright red-lipped smile. "Can I help you?"

"Uh..." Steve gulps, holding the flower bouquet behind his back.

Peggy gave another smile to the seemingly baffled blond, looking him over.

It wasn't everyday where some handsome gentleman comes into a place like this.

"... I thought your name was Natasha?" he stutters and Peggy chuckles.

"Like I said, prefer to be called Peggy," she replies.

"Peggy," Steve repeats.

Oh, this was not the girl I was looking for, he notes as he shoves the stems of flower bouquet ever so carelessly into his back pocket.

"And your name is...?" Peggy asks, a hint of a British accent in her query. Always the gentleman, Steve reaches out a hand (wiping the sweat off his pants, of course) and musters up a smile.

"Steve," he replies.

"Steve," she repeats.

And so it starts.

/

"So, are you new here?" inquires Peggy as she placed lipstick on a customer's lips.

Sitting next to the customer, Steve fiddles nervously with the hem of the makeup chair as he looked at Peggy in the reflection of mirror. "Yeah, just got in a month ago - planning to start at the School of Visual Arts on Monday."

Peggy hums. "SVA, hmm? You must be quite the Mr. Artistic, bowties and all."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Bowties are cool."

Peggy chuckles. "Riiiiiight."

Steve coughs, watching Peggy swirl the blush brush around the woman's cheeks. "What about you? Are you new here?"

"No," Peggy states, wiping the woman's cheeks to evenly distribute the blush. "Been here for a year now since I got that scholarship at Juilliard."

"Juilliard?" Steve breathes. Maybe she was the Natasha in the park! "Have you had an audition recently?"

"No, I don't have to audition for sophomore year," replies Peggy, shooting down all of Steve's hope. "Only freshmen have to audition for entry."

"Oh," says Steve.

Oh.

Once Peggy shoos away the (satisfied) customer, she takes her place in the makeup seat and whirls around to face the artist in the other chair with a sheepish smile on her face.

"Sorry about that," she says, smoothing out the wrinkles of her slimming black dress.

Steve blushes, unsure on how to proceed with the conversation. "It's okay."

Peggy gives him a smile, pulling out a notebook from her makeup bag and starts flipping through the pages.

"So," begins Peggy. "I for one have many questions running through mind but I must ask - What brought you here? Did you just walk in because you thought I was hot?"

Steve's eyes boggles. "N-no."

Noticing this, Peggy smirks. "So what is it then? Fate? Destiny? A horse?"

"Well, you," replies Steve. " Or more precisely, Facebook."

Peggy raises an eyebrow. "Facebook?"

"Long story short," explains Steve. "I bumped into a girl in Central Park, and I - God, I don't even know. All I know is that she was the most beautiful girl I've ever seen and I just want to find her."

Peggy blinks. "And you thought I was her."

"Your Facebook name is Natasha," replies Steve. "And you look like a spitting image of her, except your eyes are brown and hers are emerald."

"Okay, I suppose I follow," Peggy nods. "But why did you stumble over my profile? And how?"

"We were looking for Natashas who attended dance schools in New York City," explains Steve. "You were the first in that list."

"So you just decided to spontaneously show up to see if I was her?"

Steve nods, a blush spreading across his cheeks. "Your profile did day you worked here at the Times Square Mac."

Peggy cocks her head to the side, seemingly thinking something over.

"My eyes are brown in my Facebook profile picture," she says finally, peering at the artist skeptically. "Something like that shouldn't slip past someone of SVA genius."

"I reasoned it to contacts," replies Steve. "I've heard of it as a trend amongst dames nowadays."

Peggy snorts. "Dames?"

Steve blanched. "I-I was raised in an old-fashioned family..."

"Alright, I believe you," chuckles Peggy. With one mischievous smile, the redhead pulls out a pen from her makeup bag and scrawls down on one of the papers in her notebook.

"You need more women in your life," she says, pulling out the page from her notebook while handing it to him. Steve gingerly pries it from her fingers, stuffing it into his pocket sheepishly. "Your conversational skills were quite undeveloped."

"I-I'm sorry," stutters Steve.

Peggy laughs. "Don't worry about it, okay?"

Steve nods.

A loud, boisterous cough emitted from the cashier desks, and both Steve and Peggy turned to see a woman glaring furiously at Peggy.

"What the hell are you doing?" she mouthed. "Do you want to be fired?!"

Peggy sighs. "Well, I suppose this is it then. But seriously Steve, consider it okay?"

Steve cocks his head confusedly. "Consider what?"

Peggy's eyes twinkle with mischief as she stands up. "The paper."

And with one twirl, she was gone.

Staring bemusedly after her, Steve pulls the paper out of his pocket, his eyes widening as he registered the message.

Call me, Mr. Artist. :* 555-0123 - Peggy

~.~

"Oh my god."

Natasha sighs. "Would you stop saying that?"

"Why would I stop repeating it because oh my god oh my god oh MY GOD!" Darcy exclaims, jumping up and down. She immediately does a series of flips around the room, squealing as she did so.

"DARCY!" Natasha roars, standing up in an attempt to gain a sense of control. "Calm down!"

"Natasha!" Darcy mocks, giggling. "How could I? That was the most romantic thing I've ever heard!"

Natasha just stares at Darcy, shaking her head. "It's not that big of a deal."

"Are you serious?!" Darcy exclaims. "Someone better take this and sell it to Disney! That's some good money right there!"

"Disney?" Natasha repeats.

"It's too cliche for words," Darcy squeals in reply, pulling her new friend into a tight hug. "Agh, I so wish I was you right now!"

Natasha sighs. "Do you really?"

"Yes! I just want your romance right now," She squawks, still screeching. Natasha thanked her lucky stars that the class hasn't started yet, hoping Darcy's energized mind would quell as soon as it could.

Preferably before someone else walks in.

"Look," Natasha says sternly in an attempt to silence her friend. "Like I told you, it was literally a two minute conversation. We didn't get any coffee, we didn't... screw each other. We just bumped into each other and all I know from him is that his name is Steve. I don't think I'll ever see him again."

"But it might work out!" Darcy exclaims and Natasha shakes her head.

"That's ridiculous, Darcy," snaps Natasha and regardless of her snarl tone, Darcy doesn't recoil, puppy-like hope shining on her face. "Life isn't a fairy tale and love does not exist. Drop it."

At this, Darcy's face falls. "Love does not exist? Are you kidding me?"

"Love is for children," she says nonchalantly.

Darcy's eyes widen to the size of saucers. "B-but -"

"Drop it," demands Natasha, hearing the tell-tale sound of footsteps.

Darcy acquiesced, half-sulking as she scoots closer to Nat and watches their fellow dancers pile into the room.

"I'll drop it for now," the brunette ballerina warns, before standing up and running to the ballet bars. "But you can't guarantee later."

~.~

"So tell me, my friend, why wasn't she the one?" inquires Thor, gulping down a grand portion of his coffee.

Steve sighs and looks out to the exterior of Times Square from the McDonald's window, watching as people skitter throughout the square like ants.

"Don't get me wrong, she was nice," says Steve, snagging a fry from Thor's plate. "But she certainly wasn't the girl I met in the park."

"But she is a dancer, no?" asks Thor, giving off a belch.

"Yeah, she talked about that," replies Steve. "But she's been attending Juilliard for a year now; my Natasha

just started."

"Your Natasha?" questions Thor. "You had a fifteen second conversation with her - that's not enough leeway to call her yours, friend."

"I know," intones Steve. Fishing out a balled up paper from his pocket, he threw it out between him and Thor.

"She gave me her number," replies Steve to Thor's confused look. "Thought I needed 'a dame in my life', but I'm not sure that's entirely appropriate."

Thor sat pensively for a few moments.

"She was nice, yes?" inquires the jock.

"Very nice," nods Steve.

Thor takes a breath.

"Well, my friend," he replies, taking a giant bite of his hamburger. "Give her a ring."

Steve's eyes bogged out of his head. "Give her a ring? Wh-?!"

"- a phone call," corrects Thor, chuckling. "She would seem to be one remarkable companion, no? Call her."

Steve sighs. "I only talked to her for five minutes; wouldn't that be a bit fast?"

Thor just stares. "My friend, need I remind you that you fell in love with a woman you bumped into in a park?"

Steve blinks. "Good point."

Thor chuckles heartily and stands up, reaching over to clap Steve's back. "This is just the beginning, my friend. Believe me, you will get used to it."


End file.
